There were signs. There always were, and I'd grown used to recognizing their pattern. What could never be predicted was what would trigger these things to happen. But it would usually begin with us growing distant from one another - and I mean this in a physical sense. Our kisses would be no more than microsecond pecks on the lips, or just on the cheek. There would be no hand-holding, no hugs, no nothing. When we slept together, it was as if an invisible divider separated us into two halves that could never touch. Then would come the silence - we'd fall into great silence. And then, as always, you'd go. Sometimes you'd tell me you were going, sometimes you didn't. I'd only find out when I got home and realized that you'd packed your stuff. It's a song and dance we've done so many times before, it no longer surprises me when it does happen. It always leaves me sad, though, and it always leaves me feeling like something more of me - and of us - is dying. So when I got home that day and saw your suitcases on the hallway, I knew that we were in for one more of our waltzes.
I told you we don't have to do this. You said you had, you didn't feel happy anymore. I don't feel happy either, I said, but you don't see me leave. I am going, you said. I know, I said. You always do. There's no point in asking you not to leave me. You do this every time. I just need some time, you say. You never stopped having it, I replied. I have to go, you say. But I sense some doubts in your voice. Do you want to go? Is this what you really want? I want us to be happy, you say. But we are happy, I say, we are happy in a fucked-up kind of way. Are we happy, you ask? I think we are, are you?, I ask. And then I go and sit down by your side, there is no distance anymore. We kiss again, our hands clasped between us. So close. I love the nearness of you. This is me at my happiest. My arms enfold you, we dance in the cramped space we call our home, a slow swaying, spinning dance that tells the story of us. A whirl here, and there a twirl, and we pirouette our way back to where we started.
I can't do this anymore, I say. I can't go through this again. I'm... I'm tired of saying goodbye to you. What do you mean, you ask. We're dancing, dancing still, dancing in the moonlight, dancing with tears in our eyes. I can't do this anymore. I'm going out. If you have to leave, do it. But there is no going back this time. If you stay, we make this work. If you stay, this is forever. Where are you going, you ask. It's up to you, I say.
I left everything back home. My phone, my heart, my soul. I have to travel the streets of this city, have to wander while I wonder, have to pander while I ponder. My heart beats faster and louder with every passing moment - I feel like a drum has replaced my heart and it's beating furiously. Can all these people around me hear the thumping? An hour or so into my meandering I realize I'm not getting any semblance of clarity in my head. I need to go somewhere else. I hop on the subway, and then, a short while later I'm on a bus. The journey to where I was going wasn't long - about an hour or so - but it still felt like an eternity. When I arrive, I make a trek I used to know so so well once upon a time. I'm where I grew up when I was a kid, and miserable though that childhood sometimes was, I never stopped thinking about this place. I'm in front of the building where I used to live, looking at the ground floor windows that lead to what was once my home. I see myself running out that door as a kid, to go out and play. The last time I was here I was here with you, I wanted to show you this place. That would prove to be the first time you'd choose to leave.
Someone is talking to me, but I'm so far away I don't hear a word. I try to focus. It's an old lady asking me if I needed something. I tell her no, I was just reminiscing. I say I used to live here. She nods and goes away. I'm going too, I'm going home. I'm tired and I want to sleep. On my way home, I fall asleep on the bus and dream of you. We are ascending something. Maybe a well. It's huge, it goes on forever. There's a scrying pool deep down at the bottom. You are singing. It's a song, and you repeat the same lines over and over. 'If you leave, don't look back', over and over again. You are some steps behind me, still singing. We go up and up and up and up up up up. You sing, you sing, you sing a warning, Eurydice. If you leave, you sing, don't look back. I never left. I always stayed. There's a light approaching, we are close to the end, we are close, though you walk some steps behind, we are so close, closer, I can almost feel the nearness of you, you sing, if you leave, don't look back, I am never leaving, never, ever, don't look back, I look back, and see your smile for the last time. You're being pulled away from me, an insurmountable distance away, and a voice grows louder and louder, and I am shaken, shaking, quaking, waking. The bus driver wakes me up and lets me know we've arrived.
I'm about thirty minutes away from where we live. I'm afraid. But also strangely at peace. I am going home, but it's now a Schrödinger type situation, are you there, are you not there, so right now you're both there and not there. I'm singing the same song you sang in the dream. If you leave... I slow my pace as I enter the street where we live. I'm walking slowly, my heart, my heart, my heart pounds. Up some flights of stairs. I stop in front of the door. Inhale. Exhale. My head leans on the door, my hand clasping the door handle. Inhale. Exhale. I slide the key in, trying to make as little noise as possible. I have to turn it. Have to dissolve the quantum state. I close my eyes, say a silent prayer, and open the door.
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